Honey Red (10 page)

He took a step back, trying to get her scent out of his nose. Luckily, she was in full-on-bitch-mode so he could be pissed, and not horny. Besides, he had his own issues, trying to get Nick to answer his calls, to reconnect. The man was an expert at avoidance so Ian was about to give up, let the one-off be just that. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and took the device. A graph flashed red, indicating that they were running low on their flagship hoppy lager.

“Yeah, Hannah, I know. I updated the damn thing this morning.” He turned away from her, addressed his next comment to the empty fermenter that had fucked up his last batch of that very beer. He had a service call in on it, but believed he’d identified the problem. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” she yanked the computer out of his hand, brushing his arm with hers in the process, making him shudder and need some distance. “You’re
sorry
?”

“Yeah. You’re
deaf
?”

“No, you dickhead, I’m not. But ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it this week. I made a huge sale of the Hopped Up Lager, and you know it. I put it here,” she tapped the screen, which flipped over to her shiny new sales reporting system that had become the bane of his brewing existence. “You saw it. I know you did because I see you logged into the shared file and….”

“Listen,” he turned away from the stainless steel vessel and glared at her. “I didn’t sabotage this thing on purpose. It failed, okay? Broke, blew a gasket, something that I am attempting to diagnose or would be if I weren’t occupied being reamed out by you.” She blew out a breath, started to speak, but he held up a hand. “Spare me. You’re gonna have to short the order. It happens. Jesus.”

“Unacceptable.” She spit out, tucking the computer under one bare arm. She was parading around the brewery in her sales suit, a tight black skirt, sleeveless silk blouse and the patently obnoxious way-too-high heels. Ian forced himself not to drag his eyeballs up and down her frame, as that first moment he saw her, on her ass on the brewery floor kept replaying. He would not give the bitch the satisfaction. “I need five pallets filled and ready in a week. Make it happen,
brewer
.” She spit out the last word, emphasizing his role as opposed to hers he guessed, and then started to turn on her stiletto heel. Fury made the edges of his vision redden.

Without realizing he was doing it, he reached out, grabbed her arm, spun her around and ground out, “It won’t happen and you know it. Stop coming down here and acting like such a bossy….” He looked down and bit back the word he wanted to use. Her skin was hot under his palm and his body was reacting to her proximity, which only made him madder. She looked at his hand, then up at him, her crazy blue green eyes snapping with something he thought he recognized. He tightened his grip, dragged her closer. “Tomorrow morning five-thirty a.m. Be here. Wear jeans, a T-shirt and your hair pulled back. I’m sick and fucking tired of trying to make you understand this process. You are gonna brew with me. To appreciate what we do, so you can get exactly how pissed off you make everybody with your ridiculous demands.”

Her eyes flickered down his chest. The distinct sensation of painful erection made him clench his jaw. “I’m busy tomorrow morning.” She whispered.

Ian moved directly into her space, and let their bodies graze each other on purpose. “Yeah, I know. With me.” He leaned over her, keeping his hand on her arm.
Dear God, he was horny.
He hadn’t had sex in nearly two months, refusing to remember that last time for a lot of reasons. He wanted Nick so badly at that moment, issues and all, he could practically taste the man. But, of course, he was somehow within a split second of laying a tongue-tangler on the maddening, frustrating, hot woman in front of him. Tempting as it was, he stopped, let go of her, stepped away.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Ian was highly gratified to see her breathing fast. “See you tomorrow morning,” he turned away. “Don’t be late.”

The click-clack of her heels on the concrete told him she’d left. He put his hand on either side of the fermenter’s door, let the cold steel calm him. She would be trouble. But he needed it or something like it. His phone buzzed with a text.

Gavin: I saw that.

Ian rolled his eyes and responded:
You didn’t see shit. Or you’re imagining things.

Gavin: Leave her alone. I mean it.

Ian: Don’t boss me. I get enough of that from her.

Gavin: Ok, then fuck her and get it over with. Jesus. You two are worse than a Moonlighting episode. And, may I remind you, this was your idea.

Ian: Damn, you are dating yourself, brother. And hiring ‘someone’ was my idea. NOT her.

Gavin: Yeah, well, just do it and clear the air already.

Ian: Maybe.

Gavin: Coming to dinner tonight? Alyssa’s place?

Ian winced, recalling the last time he’d been over for dinner at his brother’s girlfriend’s house.

Ian: No, thanks. I’m exhausted.

Gavin: Suit yourself. You can’t avoid him forever you know.

Ian: Will you butt the hell out of my love life, please, and thank you very much. Jesus. You just got thru telling me to fuck the red headed girl. Now you want me to do what exactly with Alyssa’s brother?

Gavin: You should come over. Alyssa and I want to talk to you guys about something.

Ian: Fine. Whatever. Are you guys getting married?

Gavin: No.

Ian waited for the rest of the text, but nothing showed up so he responded:
Ok. I’ll be there. Can I drop Jamie with Tracey and the boys at your place?

Gavin: Sure. Seven. See you then. I’d offer to share a ride, but Alyssa and I are going out after.

Ian: So, this is more about a set up for me and her brother?

Gavin: No. Maybe. Anyway, see you later.

Ian tossed the phone on the lab table and tried to resume his diagnostic perusal of the fermenter, but his head was a mess. Between lusting over Hannah during the few moments of the day when he didn’t want to throttle her, their latest expansion and brew pub chaos, and his life as single father, the last thing he needed was another run-in with Nicholas Traynor.

Memories of Nick’s compelling but wounded face and his equally incredible body flashed through Ian’s brain, making him shiver. The man was hot, eager, and had been ready for action the second Ian had suggested it. Ian would have kept up the relationship if Nick had been inclined, but he’d made it clear they were not “lovers,” merely fuck buddies… and only once.

Considering what the guy had been through, Ian was hardly in a position to argue with him. So, he’d left him alone. But Nick’s firm, Marine-forged physique haunted his fantasies; although, the prospect of hooking up with Hannah, his nemesis, was finally allowing Ian some measure of relief regarding the non-starter with Nick. It was probably a good thing Nick had kept him at a distance. The whole thing was such a tangle, especially throwing in the fact that the Traynor kids owned the distributor that Ian had been on the verge of cutting loose. Now, of course, he was going to have to, or risk accusations of favoritism, thanks to Gavin and Alyssa’s relationship. He still wasn’t sure how his brother and the hot woman he’d fallen for were going to work out those logistics. But it wasn’t his problem. Not yet.

He sighed, picked up his phone and sent a text, knowing Nick’s phone was equipped with voice recognition software.

Ian: Hey, I hear we’re having dinner.

Nick answered nearly immediately.
Yeah. I hear you’re joining us.

Ian: What’s the news we’re supposed to be getting?

Nick: I think they’re buying a house. If so, I’m gonna buy hers.

Ian swallowed hard. That meant one thing: a guarantee of Nick at pretty much every family event going forward. He put his head on the desk. It was not going to be easy keeping his distance. He pictured the seduction he had planned for Hannah, and shoved all memory of the highly erotic connection he’d shared with Alyssa’s brother out of his head. He’d gone from four years of virtual celibacy to being faced with two options, equally frustrating and desirable. And the whole thing had his head in a very odd place—one where he could picture them all together, which was ridiculous.

Ian: Are they getting married or what?

Nick: I don’t think so. Alyssa’s still not ready for that step, but I told her moving in with the guy is over halfway there.

Ian: Well, see you tonight.

It took a while for Nick to answer; by the time his phone dinged with the response, Ian had his head back inside the fermenter, trying to salvage some of the day before waving the surrender flag.

Nick: I’ve missed you.

Ian stared at those simple words and a chill ran down his spine. He sat, trying to decide if and how to respond. Nick had so much bitterness and anger in him. Ian would give anything for the man to let him in, let him help. But he’d refused, so they’d parted ways, both unhappy and unresolved. Ian wanted something more, but Nick would not have it and had made that very clear in the weeks following their hot hook up.

Finally, Ian tapped out a simple answer:
I did what you wanted. I left you alone.

Nick: I know. Thanks.

Ian: But I didn’t like it….

Nick: I know that, too.

Deciding there was no good way to answer that, Ian put the phone in his pocket and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly three. He tossed the rag he’d been using to wipe down the sensors inside the fermenter and walked into his office for the weekly brewer’s meeting. No doubt about it—a shit day gone to hell and now he had to be around Alyssa’s brother and pretend he felt nothing for him. Christ, he should have stayed in bed.

Chapter Twelve

“I don’t care what anyone says, I am not letting that asshole call the shots. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Nick ran a hand down his face. He took a breath letting the now familiar scents of his home office give him some comfort. His shoulders and back ached when he stretched them out as he sat listening to his boss make excuses.

He’d started working out in earnest again after nearly a one-year hiatus from the gym giving him a huge measure of relaxation that he’d forgotten even existed. “Listen,” he tried to temper his usual brusque manner. “These guys have a serious security breach. A ton of information has been compromised. Banking and credit card information. Big time serious shit, okay? He has to understand….Okay, fine.” He hung up, unable to tolerate the obtuse politics of this job. Jesus, the military was so much more straightforward. He was the paid expert. People listened to him. He never had to beg anyone to take him seriously.

He pulled his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of nose, felt the dog bump up against his leg, making a concerned noise. He rubbed the animal’s ears absently, letting his short temper cool and hoping his neck would stop aching. Wishing for Ian to appear and take him in his arms but knowing that could never be, Nick closed his eyes letting his brain drift, the ever-present headache never far from the surface but muted, due to a new daily cocktail of meds. He wanted Ian Donovan back so badly it made his teeth ache and the memory of their one night kept washing over him like a warm, erotic wave.

He’d woken with a start when Ian had kissed him, disoriented, sated but with a spinning brain. He got to his feet, felt around for his jeans. Ian had helped him, pulled the denim up his legs, lingering on his softening cock. “That was pretty amazing,” he’d said, helping Nick pull the T-shirt over his head.

“Yeah,” he’d grunted, short, lame and utterly freaked out. He could not do this. He was incapable of even considering a relationship. As much as he was dying to curl up in the circle of Ian’s embrace and really sleep, truly relax in his arms, he wouldn’t. He was the proverbial wounded warrior. Doped up, blind, dependent on everyone around him even for simple things—useless for all intents and purposes. Apparently, even getting dressed it seemed. He stepped away from the other man’s soothing presence. “So, you know, that was fun and all, but, I um, well….” He ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay,” Nick heard Ian getting re-dressed, resignation in his low voice. “I get it. Fun, but that’s it, right?”

“Yeah. That.” Nick tried not to contradict himself by yanking the other man close, kissing him and never letting him go.

“So, I’ll see you…around.”

Nick heard him open then shut the front door. The sound deafened him with its finality. “Wait. Don’t leave,” he whispered, as he dropped to the couch, freshly pounding skull in his hands, the dog shoving its worried nose up in his face. By the time Alyssa got home, he was stretched out, in his usual half-asleep state, sounds and nightmares holding him hostage. She’d helped him to his room and pulled the bed covers up to his chin once he collapsed there, mumbling about Ian.